


Into the Falls

by ToLiveForWells



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, No Sex, Other, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, dont mind my absolute self endulgence, so i dont, sorry im ace, usually like sex scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 21:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20021134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToLiveForWells/pseuds/ToLiveForWells
Summary: Sara takes a ride to a strange small town in Oregon and winds up experiencing oddities and horrors she never could have imagined. In the moments she can catch her breath, Stan Pines shows up and takes it away.





	Into the Falls

It was Stan’s snoring that woke me up, the throaty gurgles of a man who’s fallen asleep with his head back. I looked up at Stan; his head was back, lolled over to the side of his chair, I was still perched beside him, my leg now asleep as it was tucked up under me. I slid my arm from behind his head carefully, trying not to disturb him.   
I stood up, stretching arms upward, turning off the television, reruns of Ducktective playing. I looked up at the clock, 2:00 in the morning. Feeling surprisingly well rested, I felt like I needed to walk. I walked as quietly as I could towards the front door, slowly pulling it open, then shut behind me, with a gentle thud. I turned to face the yard, breathing in the warm summer air that greeted my face. It was already the beginning of August. Summer would be over before I knew it. And what a summer to leave behind. 

I settled onto the step, stretching my tingling leg out to bring some blood flow back. The stars were bright this evening, a sliver of a moon cast dim light over the forests that surrounded the Mystery Shack. A soft breeze rustled the tops of the trees as they danced back and forth ever so slowly. Summer nights like this brought back so many memories, far far back, and some more recent. When I first came to Gravity Falls it was only to escape. It was some vague, shallow attempt to escape the suffocation of my own family. They hovered, fussed, mused daily about my life; where was my life going, who was I going to spend the rest of my life with? It got to a point where nothing felt right. Each day became a repetitive, maddening agony. It was a last minute choice of mine but once I was on the road, everything felt right. 

The drive from New Jersey to Oregon took weeks but it was the most freeing thing I’ve ever experienced. Each day I would see something new that I’d never seen before. I met people of all kinds, all different personalities and stories. I always wrote down my experiences, keeping a journal of each new person, an accompanying sketch of them to go along with their story. It felt like I was taking new friends with each new stop on the road. Their stories kept me company when it came to the long stretches of driving with nothing but corn fields to keep me company. 

At first I tried to speed my way out west, but my fascination with new people and new lives caused me to slow my pace and I began to enjoy the journey, that was until my car broke down in an old desert town in Nevada. I ended up stuck in Ambrosia for a week while I waited for my car to be fixed. It was a nice enough town, but incredibly small. The mechanic and his family were staples of the community, I could tell. The mechanic’s wife and daughter ran a diner, his grandson and his friends ran a “detective agency,” solving mysteries across the strange town, said to attract all kinds of oddities. It was incredibly similar to a town I’d soon find myself in before I knew it. 

The mechanic broke the unfortunate news to me; the parts for my car wouldn’t be able to arrive for another few weeks. A resigned sigh left my mouth as I passed a hand through my disheveled hair. I was fortunate that I hoarded enough money to pay for the motel for a while longer, but I didn’t want to remain idle. I sat miserable in the diner that night, pushing around a melted puddle of ice cream swirled with the filling of a red cherry pie. I barely acknowledged the man who sat next to me, ordering a steak and fries.   
“What’s the matter with you, kid? You look like you just came from a funeral, a really dusty funeral.” 

I cautioned a look down at my own body, a thin layer of dust settled over my skin and clothing from walking around town all day. “My car broke down and won’t be fixed for another few weeks.” I muttered, finally straightening my slouched posture. 

The man who greeted me was an older fellow, probably in his 60s. He was broad shouldered with a squared jawline, most likely attractive in his prime. Despite the gut that hung over his waistband, he seemed relatively fit. He wore a suit, the jacket unbuttoned, tie undone, the white shirt underneath wrinkled. He looked as if he slept in the suit. 

“I hear you,” he spoke through a mouthful of food that just arrived to him, “I just got outta the county jail. Cop said I was caught conning someone or something. Ridiculous, if you ask me, I was just passing through and happened to have had some things that some people wanted to buy that may or may not have been a complete rip off.”

By this time, I had pulled my journal from my bag, beginning to sketch the man in front of me. He kept talking, his gravelly voice occasionally interrupted by chewing, droned on about how his arrest was entirely uncalled for. I became so engrossed in my drawing that I didn’t realize he stopped talking until I realized he was leaning over, looking at the page. 

“No, kid, you’ve drawn me too fat. I’m in peak physical condition.” 

Up close the man in the disheveled suit had a well worn face, a five o’clock, or a 24 hour, shadow darkened his face, almost hiding a scar on the side of his jaw. I took note of that.   
“Hey, don’t get grease on my pages.” I pulled my book away from a piece of steak that fell from his chin. 

“Well, I’ll keep my food away if you make me at least look 50% more attractive in that sketch.” 

His overly flirtatious mannerisms, bold attitude, I took note of all of that. I closed the cover of the book and turned to fully face the man beside me. 

“I’m Sara.” I held my hand to him, which he wiped across his pant leg before firmly accepting the handshake. 

“Stan, Stanford, or uh just Stan. Stan Pines.” 

“Good to meet you, Stan Pines. You said you were just passing through, where are you from?” 

Stan Pines chewed slowly, as if thinking, “well, I’m from New Jersey, but after I was banned from the state, I uh, wound up in Oregon.” 

“Oh,” I sat up, “you’re from Jersey too? What exit ‘ya off of?” I joked.

A gruff laugh came up from Stan’s throat, “ah kid, if you’re from Jersey how could you not know about the infamous Pines family? Ah, I’m from a nowhere side street shit city up north. Nothing special.” He stared down at his coffee, “ah, anyway, where are you headed?” 

I shrugged, “just wandering, I guess. I’m not really planning on going anywhere specific. I just felt shut in back home. I’ve been learning a lot in my travels, though.” I shifted the pages of the journal in front of me to face Stan, “See? I’ve been documenting all of the people I’ve met, writing down all of their stories. There hasn’t been anyone I’ve met yet that I want to forget, so I’m trying to keep them with me as I go. It’s kind of like having someone with me and makes the trip a little less, you know, lonely.” 

“I know, it’s kind of cheesy, but people are so interesting when you take the time to get to know them. Everyone has a story and a life. It makes you feel less alone in the world to know there’s so many people out there who have lived, but no one’s story is the same.” 

I suddenly realized I was rambling and felt my cheeks go pink, “oh, uh, sorry, sometimes I get too into what I’m saying.” 

Stan chuckled, “heh, you know you remind me of my brother, he used to keep journals. Nerd books, filled with science and stuff. He was a real crackpot.” 

“What happened? I mean, if you want to tell me, you don’t uh, have to, since we just met and all.” My face went from pink to bright red, my own words faltering. 

He waved a dismissive hand, “no need to get worked up, it’s nothing really. O’l Sixer and I, we just,” Stan paused, looking down at his own hands, “we floated apart, I guess.” 

“Were you close?” My own curiosity was betraying any boundaries. 

“Yeah, kid, we were pretty close. He was somethin’ else. Haven’t met anyone like him, and I don’t think there’ll be anyone like him again.” 

Stan’s voice sounded distant and lost before he looked up at me, clearing his throat, “so uh, you’re car’s busted, you said?” 

Lost in Stan’s word, watching his mouth form words, watching his eyes focus on nothing at all as he remembered the past, his question brought me back to reality.   
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m stranded in Ambrosia for God knows how long now.” I shrugged, “I guess there’s worse places to be stuck in though.” 

Stan stood, tossing a few crumpled dollars on the counter, “good luck, if I were you, I’d be finding the fastest way outta this dump, grabbin’ the next ride to anywhere else.” 

“If I could, trust me, I would. But I don’t have enough money; I either have to stay put and get my car fixed, or throw away the rest of my money for a one way ticket to who knows where.” 

“Well,” Stan was walking towards the door, “if you need a lift, and maybe a job, I’ll be heading home in a few days, the o’l shop could use a few extra fingers, or uh, hands I guess. Here,” he pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, “here’s where I’m stayin’, I’ll be ditching this town by nine.” 

The piece of paper with the address scrawled across it was placed in my hand, Stan’s own hand just barely brushing my own, causing another blush to spark across my cheeks. “Oh uh, thanks, Stan.” 

Stan waved over his shoulder as he walked out, standing up he was much taller than I thought he was (probably because he was slouching so much.) “See ‘ya round, kid.” 

I turned back to the own melted puddle of ice cream, whatever was left of the pie turned to mush. I shoved the plate back, tucking a few dollars on the counter, thanking the waitress for her hospitality before stepping outside. As I stepped out, I saw a 1965 El Diablo drive off, the license plate read “STNLYMBL.” The air outside was much cooler than it was earlier, the sun in the Nevada desert was brutal. I shouldered my bag, my journal tucked under my arm as I wandered the darkened streets towards the motel. As I walked, I debated with myself: do I take Stan’s offer, or not? It seemed ridiculous to even consider it, given that I just met the man, a self-professed con-artist, more or less. Yet something about him enthralled me, maybe his odd mannerisms, maybe his secrecy; he was a real man of mystery. Still, it wasn’t typical for me to consider just jumping in a car with a strange old man, tempting me with a job offer and a ride out of this town. 

Out of this town. That’s what I really wanted. Admittedly, I had also grown tired of driving alone nonstop. Hours of driving in total silence, radio stations coming in and out, it all grew tiresome. I looked down at the crumpled piece of paper in my hand. It could be the chance for adventure and something new, or maybe just a great chance to be kidnapped.   
I reached my room still reading over the address. It was only a few miles out of town, but I’d still need to find a way to get there. Maybe Pop, as the mechanic was affectionately called in town, would be willing to give me a ride. The old spring mattress creaked as I sat, throwing my bag to the floor. It was the dumbest thing I could have ever thought about doing, but as I sat there, staring at the address, the more I was convinced that I had to go. I had to go with the strange man I just met and I had to go to Oregon. It was like a calling that whispered in my ear, saying that I had to go, it was my last chance for adventure. For something new. It was decided. In the morning, I’d go find Pop and tell him to junk the car. I was going to Oregon. 

The buzzing of my phone alarm was the sound that greeted me the next morning. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I switched off my alarm and tidied up the bed, even if I knew that the sheets would just be stripped and changed, hopefully. I shoved what few belongings I traveled with into my bag and threw the bag over my shoulder. The lady at the front of the motel greeted me with a pleasant smile and the usual pleasantries, “did you have a nice stay? Where you headed to next?” I turned in the key, giving her my thanks before starting up the road to the mechanic. 

Despite his surprise, Pop was willing to give me a ride to the next town over where Stan was staying. I took my suitcase from the back of my old, beat up car and dug through the seats, making sure I didn’t leave anything behind. I gave the old heap of dusty, rusted metal a final pat goodbye before I jumped into the old pickup truck. The ride only took about 40 minutes, and Pop was good company. He was a kindly old man, well worn and full of stories of his own, that I jotted down as we drove. I didn’t do much drawing on the ride since it would have looked a mess with each bump and turn. 

Pop dropped me off in front of a motel even dingier than the one I stayed off. I offered him money for his trouble, but he declined, asking only that I send him a drawing whenever I had the chance. I thanked him profusely and wished him the best as I climbed out of the truck. I pulled my suitcase from the bed of the truck, securing my bag on my shoulder and gave Pop a wave goodbye, a cloud of dust followed behind him as the pickup drove off. 

I stood outside, looking around until I spotted that very same bright red El Diablo with the custom plates, Stan Pines standing beside it. “I was wondering if you were gonna show up or not.”   
Stan’s voice called across the parking lot as I made my way to him. 

“You’re not going to like, kidnap and murder me, right?” 

“Hah, kid, those days are behind me,” Stan winked, “but really, no, I actually could use some help back up at the o’l shack, and you need some extra cash. It’s all, mostly, honest work.” Stan laughed at his own joke. 

Suitcase shoved in the trunk of the old car, I settled into the well worn leather seat as Stan slid into the driver’s side. A long day on the road laid ahead of us, at least 15 hours from here to wherever Stan said we were going. Where were we going? 

“Stan, where did you say you lived again?”

“Huh? Oh, guess I never mentioned that part, other than Oregon I guess. Just a small town in Oregon, might as well call it Boring, Oregon, but I call it home. Good o’l Gravity Falls, Oregon.” 

Gravity Falls. I hadn’t heard of such a town before, but by Stan’s description, it was a relatively small, off the map kind of town. He spoke fondly of it as we drove, the sound of the old engine rumbling along the highways. 

“Yeah, I ended up in Gravity Falls by chance, sort of. It’s one hell of a story that I don’t need to bore you with. But since then, I’ve set up a little bit of a money-maker, I mean, tourist attraction. I call it The Mystery Shack. She may not look like much from the outside, but boy does she put in the work where it counts: the inside. That sounded significantly sleazier than I anticipated.

“Anyway, my grand niece and nephew are comin’ up for the summer. I’ll be stuck babysittin’ more than I want to, so I’ll probably need an extra hand around the gift shop at least. You good with a broom? Sure you are. Don’t worry, I’ll try not to overwork you, no promises though. You should have enough money to find a cheap place in town. Nothing’s all that expensive up there since there’s not really anyone who’s jumpin’ at the chance to move to some empty town up north.” 

I listened to Stan ramble, his hands flying as he talked, occasionally letting go of the wheel entirely before grabbing it again before he swerved into oncoming traffic. The interior of the car was relatively clean except a few discarded soda cups and fast food wrappers on the floor. The leather seats squeaked whenever Stan began to talk excitedly, his whole body seemed to join in a conversation. He did the majority of the talking that day and I enjoyed listening to him. His voice was rough and raspy, perhaps from smoking, but it had a soothing, almost hypnotic effect that began to lull me to sleep. Between the rumble of the car and Stan’s voice, I found myself sleeping by the 10th hour of the drive. 

I woke under fluorescent lights. The top of the car was down and we were parked at a gas station. Stan stood by the pump, his arms crossed over his chest. It was dark outside now. I looked at my watch; already 11 o’clock at night. I stretched as best as I could as my joints creaked from sitting still so long. Stan turned when he heard me, a small grin on his face. 

“I was wonderin’ when you’d wake up. I didn’t wanna wake you up myself. Just stopping for gas, we’ll be there in another few hours, don’t worry.” 

I nodded sleepily, “you’ve been driving a while now, do you want to stop or let me drive for a while?” 

“Nah,” Stan shook his head, “it’ll only be a few more hours, less if I speed, I mean, yeah, few hours.” I couldn’t help but laugh. He returned my laughter with a short chuckle, “don’t worry about it, kid. Why don’t you run inside and grab us some snacks. I could use some grub. It’s been a few hours since we last stopped for food.” 

Another stretch and a yawn and I pulled myself up from the seat of the car. The buzzing of the convenience store lights greeted me as I walked in. I picked up a few bags of chips, a Pit Cola for Stan, and an energy drink for myself. I paid the tired cashier and returned to find Stan waiting in the car. I handed him the drink which he managed to down in a few rapid gulps, belching loudly before turning over the engine. 

With the top down, my hair whipped around my face, but the cool air on my face felt refreshing as I began to wake up from my nap. Pine trees surrounded us now only lit up by the car’s headlights. I watched as trees flew by, an occasional pair of glowing eyes watched as we drove by. I began to grow excited as I watched the world go by. Stan seemed to be happy too, humming to an oldies tune on the radio, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. 

“Where exactly am I going to stay tonight?” I asked suddenly, realizing I had nowhere to go. 

“There’s an inn, I booked you a room last night.” 

“Last night? You were really confident that I was coming with you, weren’t you?” 

Stan grinned, “I had a good feeling about you, kid. My gut doesn’t lie except when I eat Thai food. Just come by the shack tomorrow morning, ‘round nine?”   
“How am I supposed to get there?” 

“Eh, there’s a bus that goes from town to the shack, relatively cheap too. You’ll find your way, though. The town ain’t too big, you could just walk.” Stan shoveled a handful of chips into his mouth, “or just give me a call, I can come pick you up again.” 

As far as con-artists went, Stan was the nicest I had met. The gut doesn’t lie and mine felt shockingly comfortable with Stan. The only thing that stuck in the back of my mind was a tinge of suspicion. He wasn’t outright lying, but I could see in his eyes that, sometimes, he would omit some facts in his stories. I tried not to dwell on it, after all, we had only known each other for just over 24 hours. 

We pulled up to the inn, an old building that looked straight out of an old Western movie. There were a few lights on the front porch as Stan carried my bag up the steps. Inside felt homey, wooden floors and old, worn carpeting. I was given a key to my room and stood in the hallway with Stan, who refused to let me carry my suitcase upstairs. Outside the room Stan finally handed the case over with a smile. 

“Bright and early tomorrow?” 

“Absolutely. Oh, and Stan, thank you for doing this. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I really appreciate it.” 

“Any time, kid.” He winked and left me alone in the hallway. 

The room was just a bed and a bathroom, nothing tremendously fancy, but incredibly comfortable. I felt the exhaustion return as I changed into some clean clothes and fell into the soft, cool blankets with a sigh. I was asleep in seconds.


End file.
